OK– so the other day, I was hanging out in Berkeley, my old stomping ground, um…twenty years ago. As I was walking down Telegraph, I could not help myself but to stare at all the chicks-yes it was a scorching hot early Spring day and all, but these chicks not only have any fashion sense, they’re wearing outfits like 12-year olds! You know, those fucked up “Juicy” sweatpants (girls, why would you wear anything that says “juicy” right on your butt?), cheap plastic sandals, chartreuse colored (looks like the color of your snot as you recover from a flu) tanktop and various awful tattoos (girls, when you are 50, everyone around you will laugh at you for all the shribbled up skin blotches.)?
The most fucked up part was that here I am, close to turning 46, looking at these 20-year olds and having a moment of “To Catch a Predator” show when a child molester shows up at a decoy’s house with a six-pack of cheap beer, and then sit at the kitchen counter buck naked…THAT guy…I’m feeling like him, even though these girls are old enough to look at. I had to quickly bail, but only after I had a nice cream-puff from Beard Papa (you ‘ve got to try it, especially after you really get stoned!)
